Call Of Duty Fanfics: Modern Warfare Arc
by iPokemon88
Summary: The Modern Warfare arc of the Call Of Duty series. Set from the year 2011 (4:MW) to the eventful 2015 (MW3), and from the missions 'F.N.G.' to 'Scorched Earth', this fanfic provides clear mission recounts of our favourite characters: Soap, and Price, and has a mix of other characters unknown to CoD. Read & Review!
1. (4:MW) I: FNG

**CoD storyline: The Fanfic**

He kneeled there, shifting his weight from one leg to another, scanning the environment. Again, he looked through the blurry scope, silently cursing the surroundings. His legs reddened gradually, and his hands began to shake. No, he must not shake it. His legs, now controlled by an iron will, kneeled there like metal, like it was made of machines and stone. He had been there for an hour after breakfast, or so he thought. Dawn broke, and sunlight shone forth his face, like swords piercing his eyes. Surely a full stomach affects him? He then sat on the ground, his legs giving way. A slight rustle was made; it was noisy. Careful not to reveal this to his superiors, he told himself. He held the shiny chrome-lined L115 sniper rifle in his hands and removed the muzzle. On it was a reflection of himself. He sighed, replaced it, and then continued his sentry.

For three years he had served the army, and he was a great representative of his squadron. He, however, was chosen for sentry three days in a row. He knew everyone had a breaking point, but do the superiors know that? No, he replied to himself. He was a Sergeant, and he is as tall, or taller than a meter and a half. He heighted 1.68m, but it is, to him, trivia. Although he thought it was trivia, we will get to know that it will be something that will save his life. **(AN [Author's Note: you will find this around the fanfic.]: See Chapter 2: Crew Expandable (UC))**

Soon, he made out a rumbling sound, soft and humming, along the road. His sharp ears quickly picked up the trail, and he thought: hundred metres. Soon, the car came into view, but only through the scope. Two men, one clean-shaved, one wearing soldiers' clothing. He is in an army car. Soon, the car came closer, the thundering rumbling coming into everyone's ears.

"Authorized car approaching Main Gate! Serial number 81492. Fifty meters. Response."

"Open the gate," came a bushy response.

The signal was given, and the big metal grates opened. A majestic entrance, it may seem, but no, it was not to be.

**F.N.G.  
24th July 2011  
08:45:22  
****John 'Soap' MacTavish  
****Credenhill, Britain, S.A.S. HQ**

In the car, John 'Soap' MacTavish sat on the rear seat. He was amazed at the big building that rested on the top of the hill, of what was name 'Credenhill'. The driver drove through the main gate, stopped at a 'warehouse'. Near the top of the blue wall that faced him was words emblazoned on the metal. It says 'Hangar 3'. The driver looked behind and said, "Soap, here you are. Credenhill, spot for all personnel under the name of S.A.S."

"So this building is it." Soap remarked, with a hint of sarcasm, "How nice." He exited the car, and picked up his duffel bag, and marched all the way to the front of the building. A mutter from behind went in his ears, "If I were you, I would have thanked the driver."

"Thanks," was the reply from Soap's mouth. The car rumbled away.

The wooden door of the Hangar at the left of the big 'wall' opened, and a sound from inside came, "Come in, we don't have all day." Soap obeyed, and came face-to-face with Gaz. He gave a smile, a smile so pathetic, compared to a pale sunshine it would have made the Sun paler with grief, or even make it vomit with jealousy. His superior voice said, "Welcome to our group. I'll be guiding you through the training course, etcetera, etcetera, and etcetera. Please be quick when I say things, I hate being slow."

"Well, I say your voice _was _bloody slow."

"Don't expect me to laugh. Or it's the guardhouse. Anyways, there's a rifle on the table. Go get it, and place your bag on the table with the rifle. We'll place it in your bunk. Report to me for bunk number and inspection after the 'mock-up' course."

Soap went to the plastic, flimsy table right in front of the armoury. A rifle lay there neatly. Soap picked it up, placed his bag on the table, and turned around. Again, another voice was intercepted by his ears, "Hey, if I were you, I would have thanked the person who supplied you the gun."

"Thanks."

"A nice, shiny Heckler and Koch G36C. Gas-operated, thirty-ammunition clip. 5.56x45mm NATO rounds. I fixed an ACOG for you. Don't scratch it; we have explicit rules of taking care your gun." Gaz's boastful voice came across, "Now go to station one."

Soap grimaced at the gun. It already has a scratch. A giggle came from behind. Soap sighed, remembering what Gaz told him. and travelled down the corridor to station one. "What do I do next?"

"Well, shoot the target down the range. Don't forget your earplugs. I want you to aim down your sights. Then await further commands." Gaz sighed.

Soap heaved the gun up, and fired a shot down the range. The rails created the first mark on his face, a scar, his very first. The bullet hit squarely on the target's middle; a bull's eye. "Lovely…" was Gaz's reply.

"Right, do you wanna know why it is important to aim down your sights?" The reply came, "Not sure."

"See the target there? Hit it without aiming down your sights." Gaz answered. And so, Soap heaved the gun up again, and pulled the trigger. The first burst missed. He then done a second. It missed as well. Only at the fifth burst then the target hit. "I see now."

"Very good. Your next lesson is based on reaction speed. You see, when you hit targets, they fire back. Let's see how fast you can take targets down." Gaz pressed a button, and a target came up. The mechanism was implemented quickly on Soap; he aimed down the sights, dropped one, dropped a few more, and emptied the clip totally. The last target hit when Soap used the first round of his second magazine. Smoke, and gas filled the room.

"Nine seconds. Fast enough, but sub-standard. Assault training is done. Now you will learn pistol handling. Get that pistol on the table."

Soap, again, returned to the same plastic table. A shiny nickel USP lay on the table. "USP? .45 ACP calibre huh? For what do I use a pistol?"

Gaz then beckoned Soap to go closer to him. "Yes. Reloading is a good technique, reloading quick is good, but have you considered CQB conditions? Then switch to your pistol – it's fast."

Soap tested switching to pistol. He fumbled the pistol in his hands, but it fell down. Bang! It's bullets pierced neatly onto a wall beside Gaz. "Sorry."

"Try again," Gaz convinced him, "I shot my friend once when doing it as well. He wasn't hurt badly though."

Soap tried it again, and he manages to pull it out completely. "Good. Now, knifing."

"Isn't knifing just pulling out your knife and killing someone?" Soap questioned.

"Yes. Using your knife is faster than switching to your pistol. Knife the watermelon in front of me."

Soap quickly pulled out the sleek blade positioned on his pocket, and sliced the fruit clean into half, and an explosion of red mist came out of the fruit.

"That will be the fireworks you'll see in war." Gaz proclaimed. "Here, go to my friend Sergeant Newcastle."

Soap placed the rifle on the table, beside the cut watermelon, and proceeded to walk out of the door, a cool breeze caressing his face. He faced a face different. He is clean-shaven, no sign of a beard. He sported a cap, and he was clean faced, as if someone had disinfected him and should be handled with care with gloves from the laboratory. His hand held a grenade, round and green, and pretended to pull out the pin. Soap backed out, with Newcastle laughing and saying,"Hey Soap, it's all right. Hehe, welcome to explosives training."

"Don't blow it up in my face."

"Right, pick up the grenades on the table, then throw it in the windows 2, 3, and 4."

Soap went to pull out the pin on the grenade, counting,"One-Two-Three," and went to throw, with all his strength, the grenade into the window 2. A resounding monotonous beep was produced after the explosion. Gas and dust was detected by his nose, and he sneezed. After that, he pulled another pin and repeated the procedure on windows 3 and 4. He was left 1 more grenade. "Dangerous work...," Soap said. "Next?"

Newcastle strolled into the truck behind him, and he then produced an L85A2, with a grenade launcher. "There, an L85. Give me your last grenade, then I'll give you my weapon. Then fire the launcher on the wall with the number 1."

Soap dropped his last grenade on the table, and went to pull the pin. Newcastle took it and put it in his pocket. It went off with a 'fizz'. "That grenade was sabotaged, I wanted to see your reaction. It seems like you were smart enough to distinguish a fake and a real." He emitted a queer laugh, something like a giggle, and then he continued, "Go and continue." Soap, obeyed, and set the launcher from safety to fire, and aimed the launcher at the number 1 on the wall. He pulled the trigger, expecting the round to explode, and covered his face with the body of the gun, but it did not. It flattened itself onto the wall, and stayed there. He fumbled the gun, and removed from the magazine what was once a grenade round. Soap proceeded to drop the shell on the stone around him, and fitted another round in the chamber. He fumbled the launcher again, trying not to drop it and get a comfortable grip on it. Once he maintained his grip, Newcastle replied, "Yes. As you can see, the launcher has a safety arming distance, it never explodes on short range, to prevent the round from exploding when the round drops on the floor. Now pop a grenade in windows 4, 5, and 6."

Soap started wondering how long this 'training' is going to take. He shot the rounds at the windows, careful not to miss even a single round. After all was done, he was more tired than usual. The gun, he thought, was not as light as he thought when he was young. Tiredly, he replaced the gun onto the same spot where the gun laid at first. Newcastle then handed him a C4. The yellow packet and the switch laid beside the L85A2. "Pick up the C4."

Again, with the same lethargic feeling, he picked up the explosive, and then Newcastle spoke, "Seems that my ex-wife donated her car to furthering your education, Soap. Throw the C4 on the car."

Soap strode to the blue, plain car. It looked nothing unusual, with the bonnet closed and the license plate on top of it., and so Soap asked, "Sure is alright to blow up your ex-wife's car?"

No sound. Soap took it as a yes.

He primed the C4, and threw it on the car. "Place the C4 on the bonnet of the car."

He, again, primed the C4, placed it on the bonnet. He backed out, and then a shout came from behind, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

Soap gingerly pressed on the trigger. Boom! The explosion reminded him of a nursery rhyme 'Pop goes the weasel'. Surely, a scream came from the countryside. Was it a figment of his imagination?

"Good...you passed the demolitions test, head to my friend there Mac. He will be glad to see you."

Soap put down the C4 detonator, and sauntered to the training course next to the windows and blackened walls.

"Oi, looks like Miss Soap was KIND enough to join us!" Mac's loud and obnoxious voice rang over the loudspeakers and in Soap's ears. He wished to cover it, but being fearful of the length of the scolding, not the intensity of it, he decided not to. "Get yourself on the line."

Soap quietly eased himself between two others who were other Privates, and waited for the signal. "All right, move! This isn't a bloody walk in the park, move your asses!"

Angry at the remark Mac made, and wanting to prove Mac wrong and make him stupefied, he crossed part one with all his might. "Oh no...not the crawling test!" One Private cursed silently. While crawling under the barbed wire, Mac commented, "You crawl like old people screw; I've seen Sandhurst Commandos move faster than you lot! Oi, Corporal! Fire the machine guns!"

Bullets whizzed overhead Soap, and he was afraid that he may get hit on the head. He sped up his speed, and propelled himself forward. Once he was out of the barbed wire, he made a turn around the next corner, expecting a finish line like his triathlete years. No, it was a few wood poles, made out of timber! It reached about Soap's height. What should he do? Soap had a small brainwave, and ran across the field of pillars as fast as he can. "Good work Soap, you read my mind and took initiative, you get early dismissal because of your good timing! Get to Hangar One. Captain is expecting you. As for you bloody ponces," Mac turned to the other Privates, "you're gonna do the course until I'm no longer embarrassed of you! Be like Soap; his timing's incredible!"

Soap went to the Hangar that stood before him, the Privates' pants and huffs behind him. Slowly the door opened. Inside stood three people: two wearing a suit with a gas mask, and one commented, "It's the FNG sir." The last person, by the name of Price, surveyed Soap. "Go easy on him sir, he is the first of the selected."

"Right, what the hell kinda name is Soap, eh? How'd a muppet like you passed selection? Well, never mind that. For this test, you will run the course in less than sixty seconds. Gaz holds the squadron record of nineteen seconds, beaten by a person callsigned '88' by point two seconds, so the record is eighteen point eight seconds. Good luck."

Soap clinched his teeth, angry at the face some people like to answer their own questions, and he has a captain who does the same thing! He saw a ladder, and he knew what to do. He climbed the ladder. At the top he saw a few things: an MP5, four flashbangs and a pistol. Price said, "Pick up the MP5."

Soap did so, and picked up the flashes as well. Price said, "Okay, rope down and finish the course."

Soap grabbed the tight rope with both hands, and rappeled down to the makeshift 'ship'. He saw targets, similar to the ones at the firing range, where he was with Gaz. Once again the mechanism clicked inside him, and he went to pull the trigger at the targets. Bing! The targets were shot and a resounding bell rang. He continued the way down, and saw a door and a target. Shooting the target, Soap passed it, and saw a few words marked in blue ink: THROW FLASH HERE! Soap pulled the pin of the M84 flashbang, and threw it into the room. A loud bang continued time, and Soap, although blinded, has eyes of a jaguar. He shot the targets with _precise_ accuracy. Once he ran the course, Price said, "18.9 seconds. Congratulations! You are 2nd in rank. That's enough, you'll do."

Soap proceeded to go in front of Captain Price, and he said, "Gentlemen, we have a mission at night. The cargo ship mission is ready to go. Wheels up at 0200. Dismissed."

Soap sauntered out of the Hangar, and went to his bunk for a silent nap on his own, and there is where the legend, Soap MacTavish starts his journey to victory, and bunk inspection too!


	2. (4:MW) II: Crew Expandable

**CoD storyline: The Fanfic  
MODERN WARFARE ARC  
Call Of Duty 4: Modern Warfare**

**A.N.: Sorry for delay. Bogged down with schoolwork. Here's the next chapter. Enjoy! :)**

The waters of the sea raged like a shark, impatient to eat its prey. The dark, stormy, weather seemed to intensify the thunder and lightning streaking across the navy blue sky, dark and unpredictable, but at the same time drowning out other sounds. A few above sea level, a helicopter chuffed its way across the angry and tearing sky, braving the strong winds able to life trees off the ground. A few times the engine lost control, a few times it was the other way round. So heavy was the storm when the helicopters' passengers saw a ship, on the Bering Strait, tilting at the stern, and looked like it was about to capsize. The orders were given, and the helicopter neared the ship, inching closer to the deck, without the fear of getting spotted as the cover of the storm suppresses the noise they make and the rain cut the deck sailors' visibility.

"30 seconds. Ready to drop force at Fox Green."

**"Crew Expandable"  
25th July 2011  
02:36:11  
****'Soap' MacTavish  
****Somewhere near the Bering Strait  
[PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: RECOVER PACKAGE IN A CARGO SHIP]  
**

"Okay, standby..." Price's voice seemed louder to Soap than the roaring thunder soaring above the din. The fierce cracks of thunder across the sky lighted up the world for a bit, then darkened again. The light emitted an ominous feeling in the helicopters. Inside Soap's helicopter, a tense atmosphere filled the room. 3 corporals enjoyed a conversation and a quiet smoke, along with a hooded person, and Soap quietly staring at Price. He took a long drag from his stick of burning cigarette , the dying flame at the edge trying to survive. The helicopter faltered a little, but then regained control. More thunder shook the surroundings, forcing the sea to make a bigger wave. Reminded Soap of Operation Neptune, 6th June, during class a few years back.

"10 seconds. Radio check, ready secure channel."

Price threw his smoke out of the door, into the ocean. He looked out and saw a big ship, tilting on its stern, and kicked the rope down when the helicopter was directly above the deck. He put on his gas mask, and Soap followed suit, and the corporals stopped the chatter and readied their masks. "Lock and load." Soap fixed a suppressor onto his MP5, cocking the lever on the left side on the gun, then pulled out the magazine to make a final check if it is loaded. Yes, it is. Replacing the lever, the pilot signaled, "Green light. Go, go, go!"

At the last word, Price grasped his two gloved hands on the rough rope, lifted his legs off the floor of the helicopter, and pushed his weight onto the rope, the effect allowing him to slide down the rope. He landed on the deck safely, and Soap, since he is an adult, and did not want to show he was afraid of heights, grabbed the rope with both hands, and slid down as well. Once he reached the deck, he saw a few inside a room in front of him.

"Weapons free."

At the command, Soap played 'trigger-happy', bursting at every single personnel inside the room. He fired a few suppressed shots, each bullet fixed into his desired target's body. A flow of blood squirted from the wound, and the enemy writhed in pain, clutching the wound of his. A second shot fixed that, and his target went sprawling onto the floor, doubled-up and dead. He did this to the others as well. Blood splattered all over the room, with each bullet piercing through the glass, breaking it. However, no reinforcements came, as the suppressed weapons and the noisy storm made the other patrols swallow the bait that nobody was on the deck.

The others landed on the ship, and the gigantic, hovering machine overhead them drifted away. One was holding a sniper rifle, the same L115 with chrome-lined rifle clutched neatly on his hands, just with a suppressor. Already, some blokes felt sea-sick, having never fought on stormy waters, and belched first. One couldn't take it any longer, and asked Price to hurry up. He face the iron door leading to the inside of the room, and using one right leg kick, the boots met the steel iron, and broke away from the captive of the hinges, and fell to the floor in front of Price. "Gaz, stay in the deck with the sniper, give him some help and give us covering fire. The rest of you - on me."

The poor corporal who felt as sick as anyone not familiar with water, ran to a corner, where a body laid, and vomited on him. The poor sleeper had his face full of smelly sandwiches and coffee, as that was what the corporal ate for his supper before the take-off. The face-full-of-vomit person woke up almost immediately, shouted a bad word, and fought the corporal, only to be rewarded with a double tap in the stomach and chest from the soldier's pistol, and promptly died. The soldier replaced his suppressed and shiny USP, and followed Price down the stairs, who did not take a single notice of the stenchy business earlier on. "Stairs clear!"

Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Price beckoned the hooded person to search the corridor. He agreed and looked out of the door. He cocked his gun, an M4A1 with a lot of camouflage and attachments. Out on the corridor, he saw a man, who was drunk, lumber out across the corridor. A single shot pierced through his head, a wholly red mist pouring out of the wound. He fell to the floor, dropping the bottle, and was dead before he hit the floor.

"Hallway clear!"

The team of soldiers from S.A.S. proceeded to stride out of the corridor, revealing a mass of black sky. A distant thunder shook the soldier's morale, but did not stop them. They took the left corner, and saw the deck before them. Covered by a mass of some fog and smoke from the ship's exhaust, A few flashlights were shining to and fro, not taking notice of the approaching targets. Cargo in shapes and sizes were scattered throughout the deck, and some were damaged. Gaz asked, "Ready yet?"

"Ready. Fan out - three meter spread." Price rehearsed his lines well - he said it without hesitation, and took the middle route, in between two pieces of broken cargo. Soap took the left route, and walked through broken pieces of cargo. The other people took the last route, and readied their weapons. The soldiers checked every corner for any sign of targets sleeping, waiting or anything they can do. Not far from their line of sight are the pair of ignorant flashlights, searching the deck, but due to poor visibility, the lights cannot find the few intruders.

"Open fire."

As per usual, every trigger was pulled, and the fire did not last long. One of the patrol fell to the ground, the flashlight breaking on the impact with the ground. The other was tapped on the chest and did a backward flip, falling over the railing and a muffled thud sounded. The few soldiers advanced forward, jumping across broken pieces of cargo from the holders on the deck. A piece of falling metal came upon Soap, who dodged it, and made a resounding bang on the floor.

"Who's that?" Everyone immediately knew someone or some_thing_ was coming. They found a hiding spot and stayed there. Soap could not find a spot to hide, so he risked it - he hit the deck, and did not move.

A flashlight shined on the cargo, approaching Soap. He was going to be spotted by a moving patrol! The dreaded binding white light closed in on Soap. Then out of the blue, the flashlight's attention caught the broken piece of metal which fell on the floor a little earlier on. A gruffy voice rang out, "Just a piece of bloody metal - nothing to do with intruders. Go back!"

Soap got up, and saw a patrol going back to their positions. Soap was lucky that time. Price then contacted the sniper and Gaz. "Take down the patrol."

"With pleasure." A bullet pierced neatly onto the head of the patrol. He fell to the floor, a pool of blood magically appearing on the floor. The other target turned around, wanting to know who killed his friend, but another well-placed shot told him where his companion went.

"Pretty good. Get going."

The team silently moved forward, trying their best to keep away from falling cargo. They held with bated breaths, the tense surroundings around them staying there. Soap lifted his gun and switched on his flashlight, to confuse patrols that nothing happened. The trained guns were on the cargo, or on the deck. they knew someone was always behind _that_ big piece of cargo. They were tensed, and were also fearing somebody appeared out of the blue and they will be compromised. They were in open ground, and their positions was not good. If one patrol came from in front, they would be hard to spot, because their body was more behind cargo, and a sniper shot will give them away. A patrol behind was hard as well: they would be spotted when they came close to the light above them, and that would be the end of the expedition team. If _two _patrols came AT THE SAME TIME, at the front and the back, the result would be street fighting, with the team standing at the edge of the mountain and the enemies forcing them to go over, so therefore camouflage would be a good choice. One minute passed.

Then two. Three.

Finally, a flashlight came about, behind that big, blue, trunk of cargo. It was another person, and said, "Oi, patrol, where have you gone? If you don't come out, you won't have anymore tea!"

They're gonna have their tea all right. A bullet pierced the head of the person. He clutched his neck, dying to the floor, and his soul was gone. He laid there, dead, grotesque, and twisted. Soap took a risk, and raised his head. Nobody else spoke. Soap approached the cargo, knife in hand, a pistol in the other. Quietly, he looked in. Nobody was there. Soap signaled 'clear'. The others, hidden in the shadows of the pieces of metal, moved out and entered the cargo themselves. They saw a few cups of tea, some to the brim, others empty. Price took one cup, and emptied it with one breath. The others followed suit, and before long their energy was recovered and the cups were empty.

They soon continued with their journey of eternity. Soon, a platform came to view. Inside the room was a few blokes, who held machine guns and rifles. They spotted the team, and soon, behind cover, bullets were ricocheting off the sheets of metal. The sniper was also trying to hit targets. Then, a bullet whizzed past his head, about a centimeter above him, hitting his beret. It fell neatly to the floor. "Luck for me I did not eat those height-increasing supplements!" As per usual, the machine gunners fired too high, and they shot like a bunch of drunks.

Soon, airstrike entered the airspace, and before long the Russians were suffering bullets as well. After a minute or so, the room was emptied of Russians, and blood splattered all over the place. "Room clear."

"Bravo Six, Hammer is at bingo fuel, we're bugging out. Big Bird will be stationed for evac." the din of the overhead helicopter started to break away and soften. "Copy Hammer. Bravo Six - regroup."

A door was spotted, and it was concluded it led to the cargo at the bottom of the ship, the riskiest place to be in a ship when its sinking. Price radioed the two overwatchers at the deck to come over. When they arrived, Gaz pulled out his W1200 slung on his back, with a suppressor on the muzzle. The metal shined bright in the moonlight, polished well. "I like to keep this for close encounters."

Price commented quickly, "Too right mate." The Old Man smashed the door open with his boot, "On your mark - go."

The team entered the room quickly, their boots making eerie noises of scraping on the floor. Price told everyone to check all corners. The room was small, it had three routes to go to - one at the entrance, to the left, the second containing a rusted staircase, and the last as a dead end. Some supplies was stacked there. Mostly food, and a lot of water, with oil piling on top. "Wouldn't this be risky if the ship topples over?" Soap asked Price while checking that particular corner. "Yes. But let's do not care of them. Once we secure the ship - then we inspect it."

The second route was secured by two of the team. "Room clear!"

"Move up."

"Stairs clear!" The team proceeded to go down the staircase, and pipes followed. One sensed something moving under the stairs. "Movement right." he signalled to the others the pipe beside him has enemies behind that pipe. The few primed their flashes, and threw one into the location the member indicated. True enough, there was a few idiots blinded by the flash, staggering round and round in circles, trying to get hold of their bearings. The team quickly made a turn at a staircase in front of the team, and came face to face with them. They opened fire, the bullets leaving the barrel, traveling its set route to the receiver, and his fate was sealed. He fell to the ground, the blood spilling everywhere, and twisted he lay on the floor. Another died with his hand decapitated. Price commented that he needed a burial service for all of them, and in case the ship sunk, the bodies will be very hard to find, including the person who lost his whole hand.

They cautiously advanced to another door. "This might lead to the cargo." Under a solitary red light the few broke open the door so hard it flew off. Soon gunfire started and bullets flew off the hinges which held the door. Price threw a flashbang and blinded the patrol downstairs. They got out of cover and opened fire, and before long the whole group of five died. The team moved quickly, like ghosts finding their next unfortunate victim.

Soap quickly moved on, and headed for a few cargo. Behind one, he did not know, was a Russian Spetsnaz. He popped out, and shot his Desert Eagle. It nearly hit Soap, and in turn Soap knifed the Spetsnaz, killing him. An iron door lay in front, and it was not open. The team quickly assembled there, and Price told the team to get ready. "Ready?"

"Squad One ready."

Soap slid closer to the door, ready to kill anyone appearing suddenly out of the door. "Squad Two ready."

"Blow it."

Soap thrust his foot to the door, and it fell open. A lot of bullets came whizzing out of the room, missing Soap, then hitting him once on the shoulder. The blood ran down his body, but the adrenaline running up and down his veins and arteries kept him from noticing the wound and the bullet sticking out. He barrel rolled out of the entrance, missing one bullet, and out of the enemies' line of sight (which is the door). Price hurriedly primed another banger and lobbed it down the room. A white light appeared suddenly, and the team went in to exterminate all inside the room. It turns out it wasan't a patrol, but a few patrols regrouping. "Tch."

Bullets whizzed back and forth. One ally was shot in the head and he twisted up. He fell to the floor and vomited blood, acid and other vomit, with an unexplainable pale expression on his face. Soap attempted to pull him into cover, out of the bullet's firing, but one more blind bullet hit him in the groin, and he promptly died. Soap was definitely angry, at what the fight had done to his friend. Immediately, he rushed in the room, clutching a sledgehammer he found at the corner near his dead friend, and smashed a Spetsnaz's skull, simultaneously pulling the trigger at another. Both died, and Soap raced to another victim, instantly breaking his whole chest. He spewed blood on Soap's gear, and he received another gigantic blow on his stomach. The strength of the blow was so strong, the body flew to another firing enemy. Soap finally brought down one last blow of extreme pain onto the dead body, and he heard the sound of cracking metal. A piercing scream filled the room. Soap dropped the broken sledgehammer, the berserk feel dissipating, and killed all the other blokes. Soon the room was filled with dead Spetsnaz, screams and cries and people begging for mercy and their mommies.

Gaz surveyed the room, and pulled out his radar. He found a strong ping nearby, and quickly went to one box of unopened cargo.

"I'm getting a strong reading sir." Gaz reported, while unlocking the cargo door. "You might wanna take a look at this!"

The door was opened, and in it lay some paper, and a Spetsnaz emblem was on the walls of of the cargo. Price then commented, "Hmm, it's in Arabic..."

He then radioed the helicopter, "This is Bravo Six. Package found, going to the deck."

A dreaded reply came back, "No time Bravo Six. Two bogies headed your way fast, you better get out of there before they bomb the ship."

Price quickly picked up the manifest in the container, and replied, "Fast movers. Probably MiGs. Quickly, to the deck, doubly quick." The team moved out of the room, and attempted to move out of the room quickly, but got blasted by the overhead MiGs. It's true!

The blast shook the ship, and it listed heavily to one side. The team stunmble to the floor, and Soap nearly lost consciousness. "Bravo Six, are you there? Come in, Bravo Six!" The team got to their feet quickly, their instincts around them. "The ship's sinking! We've got to go now!"

"Big Bird this is Bravo Six, we're on our way out. On your feet soldier," Price lifted Soap up, screaming to his face, "we are LEAVING!"

"Get to the catwalks, move move move!" The team rushed up the catwalks quickly, trying not to fall. "Move your asses! C'mon let's go!"

The team moved across the catwalks, debris falling everywhere. Soap was trying to be fast enough. Before they reached the last section, the catwalk started to break away. "It's breaking away! Come on, come on!" Soap did a final break for the door to the rusty stairway. He made it, and the catwalk fell behind him. Pipes broke everywhere, falling and giving way. "Watch the pipes!"

"Talk to me Bravo Six, where are you?" Big Bird radioed Price, and he replied, "Standby, we're almost there!"

A corporal shouted, in desperation, "Which way?! Which way to the helicopter?!" "Right! Right!"

In the midst of the chaos, Soap spotted one more drunk. He blasted him with a burst of his MP5SD, and hastened towards the exit. Debris fell everywhere, with the earlier pile of supplies in one corner dropping out of their place, and the tank of oil exploded. "Where the hell is it?"

The helicopter was stationed on the deck, trying to gain control while it was tilted heavily. The team went on it, but Soap was too late. He missed the ramp as he headed for it. The helicopter was ascending quickly, and a member echoed: "Jump for it!"

Soap dashed towards the end of the ship, and jumped hard with all his might. He never done a leap in his whole life, but the jump felt like a leap towards the sky, in an attempt to pull down a star from millions of miles away. Soap made a grab for the ramp. He made it, but slipped away as the ramp was wet. Price quickly got up from his seat, and grabbed Soap's hand. "Gotcha!" Price then hoisted him up to the ramp, and Soap got in his seat, looking at the ship, which was listing heavily to one side, and sank into the water, never to be seen again.

"This is Big Bird. Package secured, returning to base, out."

The team settled on the helicopter silently, the helicopter closing the ramp. "Hey, who wants breakfast?" Price broke the ice and asked the others the question the team wanted to hear. "First to the mess hall gets the biggest share!"

"Enough with the sandwiches, sir. It makes me sick."


	3. (4:MW) III: Blackout

**CoD storyline: The Fanfic  
MODERN WARFARE ARC  
Call Of Duty 4: Modern Warfare**

**A.N: "The Coup" will be published before the 1st level of the American Campaign. Watch out for it.  
UPDATE: Modern Warfare Arc will not be the CoD series that will feature our friends. Soon, the Black Ops Arc will be published! After that will be the Futuristic Arc. Be sure to look out for it!**

TRANSMISSION  
Gaz: _Captain Price, Al-Asad has just executed Al-Fulani on national television._  
Price: _The Americans have plans for Al-Asad, and it's too late to do anything for Al-Fulani.  
_Price:_ But in less than three hours, codename 'Nikolai' will be executed as well._  
The screen zooms in to Russia.  
Gaz: _Nikolai sir?  
_Captain Price: _Nikolai is our informant in the Ultranationalist camp. He supplied the intel on the Crew Expendable cargoship operation._  
The satellite uploads Nikolai's profile and tracks him in an Ultranationalist camp in the Caucasus Mountains. _  
_Captain Price: _Nikolai's in hell right now. We're gonna walk him out... ...We take care of our friends. Let's move._  
The satellite tracks Sgt. "Soap" MacTavish in the Caucasus Mountains._  
_TRANSMISSION END

"Hey, Soap get ready. The Loyalists are meeting us half a click (A.N.: one click is one kilometer) to the north. Move out."

Soap primed his M4 SOPMOD (**S**pecial **O**perations **P**eculiar **Mod**ification) and replaced his knife, wet with mud and water which fell into the river not long ago, into his holster. Gaz, Price and one more soldier in a ghillie suit stood up, and Soap got up as well. The team of three was ready and and they moved across the swamp. they were to rendezvous with the Loyalists. "Loyalists eh? Are they the good Russians or the bad ones?" Gaz banished the silence and started the usual chatter.

"Well, they won't shoot us on sight, if that's what you're asking."

Gaz ended the short talk by a response, "Yeah, that's good enough for me sir."

"Be careful: this area's well guarded, we don't want to attract attention." Price waded in the knee-deep water and switched to his camouflaged M21, equipped with a suppressor. Moving forward, he chanced upon his first target. He was taking a quiet smoke and looked at the water, throwing his cigarette into the river. Damn the pollutants, Price huffed under his bated breath. He picked up his sniper rifle and carefully removed the targets head, and he fell to the floor violently.

**"Blackout"  
26th July 2011  
03:01:08  
'Soap' MacTavish  
****Caucasus Mountains, Russia**  
[MAIN OBJECTIVE: RESCUE NIKOLAI]

The thud was heard by the opponent. By the riverside was a wooden house, a guard post. Two people were inside, sitting down and enjoying a beer. However, one more was currently fishing by the river, and he heard the shot. Soap double tapped him, and immediately he fell into the river, making a loud splash. There goes our cover.

Unexpectedly, the two blokes inside the house, they did not get out of their seats. They just said, "There's our dinner." Soap and Price looked down. No wonder they felt tickled. There was fish inside the pond. Oh well, Soap went to shoot the two idiots, dropping them both with a single shot. "Cor, I feel sorry for those blokes," the ghillie man replied.

"Cut the humor and good work. There should be a few more guard posts up ahead, we should go and remove them. Kamarov and his men will be waiting for us in a field to the northwest."

The four got out of the knee-deep water, murky with blood, and crossed the grass to another hut down the route. There were three, one which was a brick house, further down a stone path linking the other two houses, which were made out of the same kind of wood they chanced upon earlier: dilapidated and on the verge of collapsing. Soap went to the earlier wooden house, and surveyed the room. There were just two chairs, some beer, and a television tuned to the official Russian channed, showing Al-Asad and his bloody face. "The idiot." Soap smashed the screen with his fist. Turns out the television was inferior. It broke in just one punch. Soap drank one can of beer, and jumped out of the window. Gaz and Price were close to the second hut, the entrance facing the riverside. However, it was a miracle the occupants did not spot Soap approaching the team.

Price beckoned for Soap to come close. "You were lucky. Go plant a gas bomb near the door, then attract their attention. Quietly."

Soap pulled out a canister of the bomb, primed it, then placed it in front of the entrance. The idiots were busy playing chess, too concentrated to notice the intruder. Shows how bad the security was, thought Soap. He then threw his knife on the table, attracting their attention. Soap then darted quickly back to Price's hiding spot. A soft bang, then chokes, then thuds. the same old song of dying fools deciding to join the army.

"Gas masks."

Everyone put on their gas masks, except the ghillie suit guy. "Why not wear the mask?"

"I'm resistant to it," the man in green got out of his place, then went to find the last hut, down the stone path. Another wooden one, and it seems with one occupant. He lifted his Cheytac M200 Intervention Prototype I and halved the idiot's skull. He came crashing to the floor, like a meteor crashing on the Earth, just that there was blood all over his face. One beautiful and flawless sniper kill had been executed onto the unwilling partner. However, a contorted expression came over the ghillie suit guy. He cursed, "Damn, I wanted it in the eye, not beside the eye."

"Guess nothing can please him, huh? Eh, old chum?" Price commented quietly.

"Who's he?"

"He's our friend, Sergeant Nick, codename '88'. Specializes on creating and recreating weapons. He was just testing his new Cheytac, see if it is good enough for a long range kill. He's also a marksman. By the way, he was the one who beat you in the cargo ship mockup thing."

The team hustled to the last big house. It had doors, yes. Nick radioed Price, "I'm doing a full scan of the house, turns out it's unoccupied. Safe." Price got the radio, and beckoned all to get near the door, and Gaz quietly opened the door. A light shone on the ceiling. It had an eerie feeling to the room, the kitchen. True enough, there was nobody. The team quickly went to another door, most probably the front door, at the living room, and went out of the house quietly.

Gaz sensed something, and twitched a little. Price asked, "Gaz, you smell that?"

Gaz found a reply that was the answer to the tickling feeling all over his body. "Yeah, Kamarov."

A rustle followed, and one soldier got out of the grass, his hand holding an AK-47 w/ PK-AV. A few more got up from the grass, some wearing ghillie suits, close to the one Nick was wearing. A person emerged from a bush nearby, and held up his AK-12 in the air. "Welcome to the new Russia, Captain Price." He beckons his friends to get out of cover, the grass. "What's the target, Kamarov? We've got an informant to recover." Price called annoyingly, a tinge of anger in his voice. "The Ultranationalists have BM21's on the other side of the hill. Their rockets have killed hundreds of civilians in the valley below. If you want us to be the next ones, that is," Kamarov replied, snickering a little.

"Oh, so we take out the BM21s huh." Nick commented.

Price quickly grabbed Kamarov's collar, and said, "No, not so fast. Remember Beirut? You're with us."

"Hm, I guess I owe you one."

The new team proceeded to go up the hill near them. A house sat on top of the hill, desolate and with its paint peeling off. Softly, Kamarov signaled one of his men to take position. He took cover beside the door, and got ready to breach it. His AN-94 equipped with a GP-25 and PK-AV shined in the solitary light overhead him. Seems like he took care of his gun really well.

"Soap, Nick, get your rifles ready. We snipe." Price beckoned the duo to get over to a road beside the house. There is a wooden fence which prevented people on the road from falling down. Price used a fusion cutter to cut through the fence. He removed two logs of wood stuck to the fence, and grunting, he placed them onto a rock wall behind them. It made a very good sniping position. Soap obediently strided to Price's location, however, Nick did not want to snipe. "Why not the front lines?"

"A ghillie being on the front lines? Get real." Gaz replies.

Nick sighed, and switched to his M200. He fixed his underbarrel bipod onto the open fence. He changed his scope zoom to 50x, activated triple-band mode (thermal + night vision + tracker) cleaned the lens, and looked through it. Soap took an M21 lying on the ground and pulled out its magazine, keeping it for his own use. Then, he pulled out his M21 w/ Suppressor and got ready, pulling the magazine out and checking the amount of ammunition in it. He changed the zoom of his rifle to the maximum possible: 10x. Nick noticed him, and took out something in his pocket. It looked like something like lens with some wiring. He switched it on, and fixed it onto Soap's lens. "It'll give you an advantage." Soap then found out he was using a prototype tracker sight.

"All units, commence the attack." Kamarov gave the order. One RPG (**R**ocket-**P**ropelled **G**renade) fired at the nearest BM-21. It exploded instantly, and the Ultranationalists found out the Loyalists had started the fight. Taken aback, the Ultranationalists scrambled to get ready. The Loyalists stormed the village, with Soap and Nick's support from above. The suppressors on the sniper rifles gave the snipers an edge against the Ultranationalists as they do not know there were snipers, and with the night covering the gun's muzzle flash, the snipers were completely invisible. Sure enough, the lens really gave Soap an advantage: he did not miss a single shot. He found a highlighted target, lined up a shot, then killed him instantly. "I could get used to this!"

Out of the blue, two blokes appeared inside a house below. They held RPDs and started firing at the Loyalists. Soap saw them and with the aid of the lens, he killed the two of them by headshots. "Nice shots, MacMillan would be impressed." The two of them dropped properly below. Soon enough, however, some alarms broke the other sounds of the battlefield and promptly after a helicopter entered the battlefield, and Soap could not penetrate the metal of the flying iron beast.

"Damn, enemy helicopters!"

"You didn't say there were helicopters, Kamarov." Price was annoyed at the sudden surprise.

"I didn't say there wouldn't be any either. We need to protect my men from those helicopter troops. This way!"

The team continued their way across the narrow pathway to a deserted, dilapidated wooden house. Gaz quietly scoffed, "We should just beat it out of him sir," to which Price replied, "Not yet."

Nick unmounted his sniper rifle, and followed them, actually overtaking them. "I'll be in a corner. If you need my sniper support, pop a flare." He crossed the wooden house to a field of grass, where a power line stood ahead, supported by iron structures. He found a quiet spot, camouflaged himself with the grass, and primed his M200. Soap switched his weapon for his carbine, and started picking off shooters rappeling down to the field from overhead helicopters. However, there was more than the team expected. Twenty shooters were firing all at once on the wooden hut! The hut widthstood the damage dealt but looked as if it was about to collapse.

"There's too many of them sir!" Soap shouted, after an RPG barely missed him. Price did not answer, he just used his M203, and blasted a few off the field. Soap completely forgotten about the underbarrel M203, and utilized it to destory a helicopter. Bang! Sure enough, the helicopter lost control, and smashed itself onto the battlefield below. More helicopters appeared, however. Gaz, realizing he held a few flare rounds for his M203, loaded the round, and shot at the group of helicopters. the round exploded at the body of a helicopter in the group, producing a brilliant white flash and then red colours.

"Flare confirmed. Proceeding to take them out." Nick loaded his M200 with Raufoss Mk 211 .50 BMG (explosive armor-piercing ammunition), and destroyed a helicopter in one shot at the rotor. The helicopter exploded mid-air. "Pretty fireworks up there. Really devastatng." He proceeded to kill the second helicopter, and it fell down to the ground before exploding.

Kamarov saw down below, that his teammates need more support. He beckoned his friends to a ledge to the right of the field. "Our troops need help! Give them sniper support!" Soap and Price went to the ledge, somewhat hesitantly, and pulled out their sniper rifles once again. "Tell me Kamarov, I want that informant." He told Kamarov, who was currently in one corner, radioing his squad, and saying some Russian words. "Trust us Captain Price. We will carve a path, straight to your informant."

Price, really angry and thinking that Kamarov is delaying him and he belonging to the other army, nearly pulled out his USP just to get his rounds on his body. Soap immediately stretched his hands and pushed down the USP. "Not yet, sir." However, Price did not scold him, neither did he push him over the ledge. He replaced his USP, then continued sniping. A few more BM-21s appeared, and with the help of some RPGs, they were shrunken down to a pile of hard, cold metal.

Kamarov, seeing all this, said, "I have a favour to ask, Captain Price. Follow me to the power station."

Gaz and Price, seeing their chance, followed him, and got ready their knives. Soap followed along, waiting for the drama that may happen next. Nick, however, did not follow them. Instead, he wanted to be on the front line. With Gaz's sarcastic reply on a ghillie being on the front, he jumped off the cliff, and landed softly on the ground below. We shall leave him for now.

Kamarov, at the power line, below the iron structures, he looked at a nearby house below. "Look, the final assault has already begun. With a little more of your sniper support, we are sure to be victorious. Captain Price, I need your men..." All this time, Gaz was just sneaking up on him. Finally, he pulled out his sleek, steel blade and shoved Kamarov forward. His body lay on the parapet, his face looking fifty meters down into death. Gaz positioned his shiny blade close to Kamarov's neck. "I don't want anymore of this sniping business. Where is he?"

Kamarov struggled and shoved, shouting some Russian words. Gaz ordered, "WHERE IS HE?"

"The house, the house at the north-east end of the village! Put me down!"

Gaz pulled him back, and then said, "Well that wasn't so hard, isn't it? Now go and sit in that corner." He forcefully pushed him to a corner.

Price readied some rappel ropes, then proceeded to rappel down to the ground below. Soap and Gaz did the same. They fought through the house, killing more and more, and racking up body counts. Continued fighting had wore out the team's guns, but not their spirits. The sole determination to save an informant pushed them harder. Once, Soap threw back a grenade which was about to explode. Gaz and Price did double taps onto some blokes going out of the house. "Where's that sniper?" Gaz fumed after he popped a second flare, but no sniping appeared. Bullets whizzed past them, and they were close to killing some of the team. Just then, a TGM (**T**elevision-**G**uided **M**issle) came out of a patch of grass nearby, and destroyed the house completely, causing it to collapse. The team then saw Nick re-appear out of the patch of grass. "Saved you," he replied casually.

"I didn't know you had a TGM for testing purposes!" Price remarked. "I'm a mysterious guy, don't try to understand me." Nick followed the team across the rubble of a house. They saw a big house, two storeys high, with two doors. "Hmm, looks like we attack on two fronts."

Price and the team closed in to the house. To their luck, the curtains are closed, and it meant they have really poor security. Price and Soap stationed at one point, and Gaz and Nick at the other side. Gaz then cut the power source. "Go."

The team entered the house, and equipped their night-vision goggles (NVGs). The first floor was easy. Two stupid fools were busy talking Russian. One beckoned to another at the second floor, talking something about power-cuts. Price killed him. "These night-vision goggles make it too easy..."

The team moved to the second floor, and found one sitting in a corner, holding an M9. Soap knifed him, and killed him. Suddenly, one person pushed a table, and then started shooting his AN-94 randomly. Soap killed him as well. Gaz and Nick then killed some others holding flashlights, coming out of rooms. They saw one lone room, and then one came out with an M1911. Soap, his fast reaction doing it all, shot him in the head. the bullet lay in his skull. He flopped onto the floor, his torchlight shining on a prisoner. He said in Russian, "Who are you? Special forces?"

"It's him."

Price took an AK-74u, and handrd it to him. "Nikolai, are you all right? Can you walk?"

"Yes, and I can still fight. Thank you for getting me out of here."

Price and the team went out by the second entry, and nearby a helicopter was landing. It was Big Bird. They hurried in the helicopter. "Informer secure."

As the helicopter took off, Nikolai asked the crucial question, "Have the Americans attacked Al-Asad?"

"Not yet, but their invasion begins in a few hours. Why?"

"The Americans are making a mistake. **They will NEVER take Al-Asad alive."**

* * *

Hey fans! You cam make a choice of what chapter next!  
Do you want "The Coup" or "Charlie Don't Surf" first? Tell me in comments/reviews below! Fav this story! :)


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